


Her Type

by musicprincess1990



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brave Molly, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, F/M, Romance, Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Slight Divergence, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29990529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicprincess1990/pseuds/musicprincess1990
Summary: For Sherlolly Appreciation Week, day 4: The Hallway Scene.  With a few minor tweaks.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 28
Kudos: 72
Collections: Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2021





	Her Type

**Author's Note:**

> Time for a bit of canon divergence, yes? 😉

He was sad again. It broke Molly’s heart to see it, but see it she did, from the moment she entered his flat. She understood, to some extent, what had happened with John. John had called her quite late, the night he found out, waking her up and shouting abuse for a good ten minutes. Molly had listened calmly, waited until he finished, then told him she wouldn’t apologize for keeping Sherlock’s secret, and she wouldn’t allow him to make her feel guilty. After that, he was silent for a moment, then muttered a terse goodbye and ended the call.

Now, she was helping Sherlock solve crimes. Clearly, John still hadn’t forgiven him.

And Sherlock was sad.

He tried to brush it aside, though he wasn’t always successful. Molly was quite certain he was hearing John’s voice at times, and then _answering_ it. And then, of course, there was the bit where he called her John. That… was not the best feeling. It hadn’t exactly been a surprise, but still.

Things shifted a bit, though, when they reached the train man’s flat. His eyes sought her out more than once, and then there was that odd, lingering smile they shared. Molly tried to discredit it, tried telling herself he was just happy to have anyone with him, but deep down, she knew that wasn’t true. She knew Sherlock better than most people assumed she did, and she knew just how precious a gift it was to be counted as his friend. He didn’t have many, after all, and those he did, well… he’d rather proven he was willing to die for them. Or at least _pretend_ to die for them. _No, that’s not fair_ , she scolded herself. Because for all his many back-up plans and loopholes, one thing she knew for certain:

If there had been no way to save his life, he still would have jumped.

Molly blinked back into the present, and found Sherlock looking at her strangely. _Oh, bugger, have I been staring at him all this time?_ She tried to play dumb, with a quiet “Hmm?” and an innocent blink of her eyes, but it seemed he wasn’t fooled. He said nothing _(thank God),_ simply raised an eyebrow and turned his attention back to the train man.

His attention was spotty from then on, as he slipped into his mind palace, sorting through the unusual situation. On their way out of the flat, Sherlock paused at the top of the stairs. Molly waited for him on the landing, knowing he would come out of it in his own time. A few minutes later, he opened his eyes, speaking in rapid fire, “The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes, that journey took ten minutes. Ten minutes to get from Westminster to St. James’s Park… so I’m going to need maps—lots of maps, older maps, _all_ the maps.”

“Right,” Molly nodded as he descended the stairs.

He made his way down the stairs. “Fancy some chips?”

 _What?_ “What?” her thought slipped out through her voice.

“I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions.”

Molly couldn’t help a brief smirk as he passed her on the landing. “Did you get him off a murder charge?” she joked.

“Nope,” he replied, continuing down the stairs. “Helped him put up some shelves.”

She let out a quiet giggle at that, and took a moment to enjoy the ease of their banter. They’d always fit well together, both professionally and socially. Not that there were a great number of purely social interactions between them, but after one particularly awful Christmas that Molly tried not to think about, he’d been more careful with his deductions and was a good deal less acidic toward her. It certainly wasn’t a declaration of love (she mentally scoffed at the idea), but nor was it entirely meaningless.

But then… considering who she was dealing with… perhaps it meant more than she realized.

 _Oh, get a hold of yourself, Hooper_ , her inner voice snapped, but she ignored it. She had to know, had to ask, and even if he said it was nothing, at least she’d _know_.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” he stopped and turned as she walked down the last flight.

“What was today about?”

He hesitated a moment, and she thought she could see a flash of vulnerability. _From Sherlock?_ “Saying thank you,” he finally said.

Molly paused mid-step. “For what?”

“For everything you did for me,” he replied.

She tried to smile, ducking her head to hide her disappointment. “It’s okay, it was my pleasure.”

“No,” his voice stopped her. “I mean it.”

“Well, I-I don’t mean pleasure,” she babbled, “I just mean—I didn’t mind. I wanted to.”

Sherlock took a step toward her, and her breath stopped. “Moriarty slipped up,” he murmured, “he made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn’t matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most. You made it all possible.” He paused, taking a breath. “But you can’t do this again, can you?”

Molly smiled, despite the seriousness of the conversation. He was right, she couldn’t do this again. She had a job after all, and she was rather fond of it. “I had a lovely day,” she assured him truthfully, “it’s just—”

“And congratulations, by the way.” He looked pointedly down at the sparkling diamond ring on her finger. The ring she had forgotten she was even wearing.

 _Oh_.

Suddenly, Molly felt sick. He was right, she _couldn’t_ do this. She couldn’t spend the night eating chips with Sherlock when she was engaged to Tom. Not when her heart, traitorous thing that it was, kept trying to hop right back into Sherlock’s hands, where it had been since she’d met him. God, she was the worst… thinking about another man that wasn’t her fiancé—who would _never_ be her fiancé, or even her boyfriend, because he didn’t _do_ relationships!

“He’s not from work,” she found herself blurting out, and once the words escaped, they kept coming, tumbling out of her lips in an endless, fumbling cascade. “We met through friends, the old-fashioned way. He’s nice. We… he’s got a dog… w-we go to the pub on weekends and he… I’ve met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family—I’ve no idea why I’m telling you this—”

Sherlock takes pity on her then, cutting her off with his soft-spoken words, “I hope you’ll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it.”

 _He looks sad_.

Molly’s heart lurched at the realization, and she watched him carefully as he spoke again.

“After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths.”

 _There it is_. Of course he knew, she’d never doubted he would. But hearing this now, and seeing the unmistakable sadness in his eyes, something just _clicked_. Molly used the deductive reasoning she’d learned from him, courtesy of paying more attention to him than... well, anyone. She took stock of everything about him in that instant, from his appearance and his unspoken words. She’d recognized the sadness in him already, but looking closer, she also saw restraint. Resignation. Further than that, she realized his pupils were dilated. The little stairwell wasn’t flooded with light, but it wasn’t dark enough for them to be dilated to that extent, unless…

_She was the one who mattered the most._

Sherlock stepped closer, the smile he gave her not quite reaching his eyes, and brushed his lips against her cheek. Molly allowed herself a brief moment to enjoy the sensation, to breathe his scent and feel his warmth, before doing the single bravest thing she had done in her life.

She caught him by the hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” she whispered, dragging her eyes up to meet his. They were wide and startled, and completely focused on her, as if what she said next were the most important thing in the world. _Maybe it was_. “It’s wrong, it’s awful, and I feel horrible, but… I _haven’t_ fallen for him. Not really. I’m only with him because… because you weren’t here.”

His lips parted in shock, and she nearly lost her nerve, but she mustered up all the courage she had and went on, “You say not all the men I fall for can be sociopaths. Well… maybe it’s just my type.”

Molly waited, a bit breathless, for him to respond. She honestly had no idea how he would react, whether he would let her down gently, or with cruelty, or if he’d pull some tortured hero rubbish saying she was better off without him. But to her surprise, she found she didn’t care. Well, she had her preference obviously, but she knew she wouldn’t regret this, even if he did spit on her and call her the dirt on his shoes. She felt powerful for having said it, having taken a risk with her heart, for the first time in years.

Sherlock took a slow breath in, then let it out in a swift exhale. “Take it off.”

She started, rearing her head back. “I—what?”

In one swift movement, he flipped his hand over in hers, gripped her wrist, and yanked her towards him. His face lingered just inches above hers, eyes ablaze, and he grabbed her left hand, holding it between them. The sparkle of the diamond caught her eye, but his stayed on her. “Take… it… _off.”_

Molly swallowed hard, having some idea of where this was going, but not daring to hope. She lifted her free hand, spreading the fingers of her left, and worked the ring off her finger, carelessly dropping it somewhere to her right.

His response was immediate. Molly barely had time to register the feel of his hands on either side of her head before his lips slammed against hers. She caught up quickly, though, her arms encircling his torso while his mouth plundered hers. Her body trembled against his, and he moved his hands to her waist, supporting her just in time for her knees to give out. She clung to him like a lifeline, and he did the same to her, his fingers curling around fistfuls of her jacket.

When oxygen demanded they part, he pulled her close, resting his chin atop her head. “That’s a hell of a lot better than cocaine.”

Molly snorted against his chest. “I should hope so.”

His arms relaxed, and when she leaned back to look at him, she was rewarded with the biggest, most genuine smile she’d ever seen him wear. The sight of it sent a matching grin across her face, and they stood there for several moments, beaming at each other like idiots. Then something crossed Molly's mind, and she stepped away from him. Stooping down, she picked up Tom's ring, giving it an assessing look.

"Better give this back to him," she mumbled. "He only bought it a few weeks ago, might be able to return it." She stuffed the ring into the pocket of her trousers, then looked back up at a smirking Sherlock.

"Sooo," he drawled, "chips?"

Molly slid her hand into his and grinned. "Chips," she nodded, and they turned and left the hallway together.


End file.
